


Go Ahead and Cry Little Boy

by PolarKraken



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Crying, Daddy Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 13:42:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21447130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolarKraken/pseuds/PolarKraken
Summary: This fic plays after "Twenty Years to Midnight" and delves into Rusty's Daddy Issues. No real romance is happening here, just Brock taking care of an upset Rusty.Relevant music can be foundhere.
Relationships: Brock Samson/Rusty Venture
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Go Ahead and Cry Little Boy

Brock had watched Doc closely ever since they had gotten into the X-1 to make their way home from New York. The boys were both hyper, albeit tired, so they were constantly talking about how cool it was that they had seen an actual alien, even though it looked mostly like their grandpa. Doc meanwhile didn’t seem to be so fascinated and was unusually quiet. After his last bitching about the gas money and time they wasted, he hadn’t made much of a sound anymore, just an occasional nondescript grunting whenever the boys asked him something. 

Doc being short with the boys wasn’t anything new, but him having nothing to say was never a good sign. Brock knew these moods of his; they usually preceded some more uncomfortable events, like attempts of overdosing or other harmful behavior. Brock wouldn’t let it go so far this time. He was his bodyguard, he was supposed to protect him, even if it was from himself.

After they had gotten the boys to bed, the two of them finally succumbing to their exhaustion, him and Doc were standing awkwardly in front of the twins’ room. Brock wasn’t so sure how to address his concern, but Doc was quicker anyway.

“Well, guess I hit the hay as well. See you tomorrow or whatever…”

He mumbled, almost inaudible before he started to walk to his bedroom, but Brock snagged him on his arm to keep him from leaving. Instead of getting angry at him, he felt how Doc sighed defeated, before turning around, making eye contact for the first time since they had seen the alien. Brock didn’t like it; His eyes were cloudy, unfocussed, no sign of the sharp glint he was so used to. 

He had to act quickly, so he simply blurted out the first thing which came to his mind.

“Uuuh, I was thinking, we could wind down a bit, maybe watch a movie?”

Doc cocked his eyebrow slightly. He turned around properly now, lightly pulling himself free from Brock’s grip, adjusting his glasses in some kind of self-soothing attempt. He then crossed his arms, locking eyes with him again.

“Since when do you like to ‘wind down’ together?”

He asked, making air-quotes at the ‘wind down’ part. Brock was kind of glad to see him a bit cocky again, the way he leaned his weight on his left hip, tapping his right foot impatiently. Brock shrugged.

“Hey, it’s just… we went through a lot right now and…”

He saw Doc rolling his eyes at him and he felt annoyance creep up inside. He was just trying to help after all. 

“You don’t have to put me on suicide watch, if that’s what you mean.”

Brock gulped. His motives had been found out and he felt a bit guilty for hiding these intentions from him. He was about to answer, but Doc was quicker. 

“I don’t need your pity, Brock, I’ll be fine. Just leave me alone.”

He turned around again, but his bodyguard wouldn’t let him leave so soon. 

“It’s not about that, Doc, come on!”

Doc stopped again, keeping his back towards him however. 

“What is it about, then?”

His voice was quieter this time, obviously fed up with everything. 

“I just wanna watch a movie with you and get drunk. That’s all.”

This was a lie, and they both knew that. Nevertheless, Doc seemed to give in, as he turned towards him again and then made his way past him to the living room. 

“Okay, but I pick!”

He exclaimed and Brock hurried to fall into step next to him.

“Pick what?”

“The alcohol and the movie, obviously.”

“Hey, that’s not fair! You can pick the booze, I pick the movie!”

Brock had to smile when he saw the little smirk on Doc’s face and was kind of grateful he would get in on the banter with him.

“Great, can’t wait for another Sylvester Stallone movie I’ve seen a million times already.”

“They’re good movies, I don’t know what your beef is!”

It didn’t take long for the pair to get the supplies together. Brock was pleasantly surprised that Doc pulled out the good bourbon and not the cooking sherry. Holding two wide glasses with ice in one hand and the bottle in the other, he sat down next to him, pouring them both two finger high drinks, while he looked at the screen in front of them.

“Rambo? Really?”

Brock leaned forward to get his glass, playing around with the remote in his other hand, looking at his employer with overly expressed indifference. 

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

Doc leaned back, his own drink in his hand, pulling his knees up. Another subtle clue for Brock that he definitely was not okay right now. He knew his body language and he knew that he usually was splayed out on the couch when he was comfortable. Sitting like this, taking up as little space as possible, just showed him how on edge he was. 

He decided to not address it and just pressed start. Instead of watching the screen however, he was observing Doc out of the corner of his eyes. He wasn’t sure if he noticed, but if he did he didn’t acknowledge it. He just sat there, eyes on the screen, sipping his drink a lot quicker than Brock drank his. Not even half an hour into the movie and he was already moving for the third time to pour himself more. This time when he sat back down, one of his feet stayed on the ground, but Brock wasn’t sure if that was a good sign. Then Doc talked and the bodyguard made sure to listen well.

“So, tell me Brock. How close is Rambo to reality?”

This seemed like such a random and out of the blue question, but there was no reason for him not to indulge his curiosity. He watched the fight on the screen for a couple of seconds.

“Eh, almost there. The rebound on his gun is a bit over the top and I’d be more efficient with the killing.”

“Are you saying you’re deadlier than Rambo?”

Doc sounded amused while he asked that, before he bent forward to fill his glass again, this time almost half full. Brock had to frown, but let him.

“I’m saying, Doc, that I wouldn’t make such a mess is all.”

The smaller man turned around, already swaying a little and squinted at him.

“You _do_ make a big mess, but yeah, you clean up afterwards, so I give you that.”

He grunted a bit and then downed his drink in one go and shivered while the alcohol made its way down his esophagus. Awkward silence spread after that while Doc watched the movie quietly and Brock pretended to. He was miffed, as Doc’s position didn’t give him a good view on his facial expression. 

“It’s funny though…”

Doc suddenly mumbled, his face still hidden. Brock was quiet and let him speak.

“The O.S.I. sends a soldier to me who’s as good as like, two Rambos, just to protect me.”

He hugged the one knee he had still pulled up, the glass with the half molten ice dangling loosely in his grip.

“You’d think they’d have a better use for an Über-Rambo like you. Not just hanging around here, shooing the occasional asshole away.”

He wondered where all this was coming from all of a sudden. Since when was Doc someone who would deny himself the best service he could get?

“Protecting you is as dangerous as being out in the field.”

Brock said, even though this was another lie. And he didn’t know if that was even what this was all about. Doc sighed deeply and then poured himself another drink, this time staying hunched over while watching the screen. 

“It’s fucked, isn’t it?”

He mumbled and Brock leaned forward as well to hear him better.

“What is?”

He asked carefully, getting rid of his glass. He felt like he needed to be ready for whatever may come next. 

“You, being in danger. The boys being in danger. All because of _him_.”

He saw him shake his bald head before he downed even more bourbon. Brock would’ve loved to just take the glass from him, but Doc already put it down on the table next to Brock’s, so he could rub his face with both hands. 

“Because of me…”

“How’s any of this your fault?”

Brock asked, coming off as more stand-offish as he wanted. He saw him shrug at that.

“I’m not enough.”

He said, being very vague. Brock decided to turn the volume down a bit and press further.

“Not enough for what?”

This made the other man throw his hands in the air, typically melodramatic and definitely drunk by now.

“Everything! I’ve never been enough for anything…”

Brock gently put a hand on his back and was glad the Doc didn’t pull away. He rubbed a bit over him, feeling the ribs and vertebrae poking through the speed suit.

“You’re doing your best though, don’t you?”

Brock asked and Doc scoffed, finally turning around. His face seemed tense, his eyebrows furrowed deeply, making his wrinkles even more prominent than usual, his eyes blood shot, his skin pale.

“We both know I don’t. And I don’t even understand why! Why is it so hard to give a shit? Even about things I should give a shit about!”

There was nothing Brock could say to that, so he just sighed, keeping his hand where it was. Doc didn’t seem like he wanted an answer anyway, as he starting to ramble. 

“I mean, I care about science, I think? I’m a super scientist, so that’s my job right? There are definitely some good things about science, like the fame and all that. And the money isn’t bad as well, but it’s hard. Very hard, Brock, and don’t tell anyone this, but… I don’t know if I’m cut out for any of this. It’s not like I chose this life after all…”

He took a deep breath, looking away and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“And the boys well… It’s complicated. I love them, obviously, I’m their father and fathers are supposed to love their sons…”

He trailed off, going silent. Brock felt like they were finally getting to the bottom of the issue. None of this was really news to the bodyguard. He knew Doc was struggling with this life Jonas Venture had thrown him into, even if he was a grown ass adult at this point and surely was in a position to change his life in a way that would suit him better. Why he never tried, he didn’t know. 

“Doc…”

He said quietly, which made him look at him again. He seemed more upset, the alcohol loosening up his barely existing composure. 

“Brock, I don’t even know how my own father felt about me.”

His heart broke a little when he saw tears forming in the corner of the smaller man’s eyes. Usually he would’ve reassured him, tell him that he obviously loved him, but with Doc’s father, he wasn’t so sure if that was the case. Brock knew from experience how horrible fathers could be, and getting told that they loved you, even if you never felt that from them could be pretty scarring. 

“Does that even matter, though?”

He said instead and Doc seemed as if he had to ponder on that question. He sniffled a bit, his shoulders hanging down.

“I don’t know why, but…”

Now he pressed his face into both of his palms, rubbing them up and down.

“It does. It does matter and I wish it didn’t…”

Brock’s hand, which had slid over his back the whole time finally moved upwards to gently hold him at the nape of his neck, leaving it there. He felt him breathing shallowly and despite him usually keeping a straight face, he couldn’t help but frown in concern.

“I couldn’t even say goodbye…”

Doc whispered and then his whole body began to shake. Brock didn’t do anything, he was just there, keeping his hand on his neck, his thumb caressing over him in a vain attempt to comfort him. 

“He left me, Brock. He just went and left me all alone. He messed my life up and now I have to sort it out myself.”

He was more sobbing than talking, moving his hands away to wipe his nose with the back of his hand.

“I wasn’t ready for this. I wasn’t ready for him to just… vanish…”

His hands came down, moving as if sand was pouring through his fingers. At last he turned around, pressing himself against his bodyguard’s chest. Brock let him, carefully putting both of his hands on his back just to hold him.

“All I ever wished was for him to leave me alone. Everything he did to me was horrible and now he’s gone and he can’t do horrible things to me anymore and can’t _say_ horrible things anymore and still, _and still_….”

He sobbed and cried, both his hands clawing onto Brock’s t-shirt and he felt his nose and glasses press against him more. He stayed quiet, letting him talk.

“He’s still there, in my mind, still telling me horrible things. So why… why am I so sad he’s dead? What the fuck is _wrong_ with me…”

“It’s not your fault, Doc…”

He said finally, which only prompted more sobbing. Brock moved a bit to pause the movie, as the sounds of machine guns didn’t really give a good ambient for this kind of situation.

“It hurt so much…. Seeing him again today…”

Doc huffed into his shirt and Brock nodded knowingly, pulling him a bit closer.

“It wasn’t even him and it still messed me up…. Fuck… _fuck_…”

He shook his head against him. There was a lot to unravel here and Brock was frankly unable to do anything. He wasn’t trained to understand deep seated psychological trauma. All he could pull from was his own past and he’d rather not tap into that. It wasn’t easy to find the right words and maybe he shouldn’t say anything right now, but it didn’t feel right to just leave it at that. So he thought hard, trying to think of something. It took him some time, the two of them just sitting on the couch with Doc pathetically crying into his shirt.

“Doc, you know…”

They were awkwardly turned towards each other and Brock resolved this issue by simply picking the smaller man up to let him sit in his lap. He was glad that he didn’t fight it and instead just buried himself against him. He could tell he was listening though, as his sobbing was getting a bit quieter. 

“Jonas was a dick. What he did to you was fucked.”

Doc was still sniffling, his shoulders still shivering, but he was slowly calming down.

“And I don’t know why you’re sad that he’s gone. Guess it’s complicated with parents.”

“You can say that again…”

He heard his voice muffled from his chest and Brock smiled a bit. 

“We always wish we had good parents, but when they’re gone, there’s no chance of that ever happening. No hope that it’ll ever get better. So we grief for that.”

There was still a lot of sniffling and the occasional sob, but it seemed he was calming down for real by now. He didn’t hold him tightly, only gently pressing his palms on his back, giving him all the time he needed. Doc finally pulled away, sheepishly wiping on Brock’s now sullied shirt. He didn’t look at him, but still held onto him.

“Yeah…”

He sighed, sounding very defeated. 

“Makes sense I guess…”

He added, moving to get a handkerchief from his pocket to blow his nose. He sighed again, bunching up the fabric in his hands.

“Sorry you had to see this.”

He mumbled, finally looking up to him, face still damp, his eyes now puffy and irritated from all the crying. Brock felt incredibly sorry for him, but tried not to show it.

“Eh, I’ve seen worse.”

Was all he said to this, hoping his smile was sympathetic. Doc blinked at him with big eyes and then shook his head and slipped out of his grip to stand up. He wasn’t very stable on his feet so he held onto the sofa. 

“I’m gonna go take a leak and then we finish this stupid movie.”

“You sure you okay, Doc?”

Brock asked and all he got was a hand waving dismissively into his face.

“Yeah yeah, stop your worrying already.”

He stumbled towards the bathroom, Brock keeping his ears peeled for any unusual sounds. He didn’t hear anything crashing, just Doc flushing and then splashing about in the sink. At last he made it onto the sofa somehow, slouching down and crossing his legs.

“Turn it on, can’t wait for the riveting plot to unfold in front of us!”

He said, gesticulating towards the remote and Brock shook his head in amusement and started the movie again. The war sounds were back, Rambo on the screen doing his badass 80s action thing and both men were sitting in silence, less tension in the air than before. It was never a pretty sight to see another man cry, but at least he seemed to be doing okay now. Brock had done his job, had made it a bit better for Doc by letting him vent, so he allowed himself to actually watch the movie now. At least for tonight it should be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on twitter under [@GenteiJanken](https://twitter.com/GenteiJanken)!


End file.
